


Violent like porcelain

by Destructivedepravities



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Dominant Masochism, M/M, Masochism, Sadism, Self-Hatred, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destructivedepravities/pseuds/Destructivedepravities
Summary: Fritz was always stubborn, unloving, unfaltering and when you slammed your fist into his speckled face of porcelain, you'd better fucking guess you're gonna get a couple shards lodged in your sorry knuckles.





	1. Ragdoll as always

**Author's Note:**

> Oliver is Phone Guy, and Jared is the assaulting Purple Man.

Fritz's fingers reached over, gripping the phone. A much larger, yet softer hand gripped his wrist, before slamming it down. His hips were pressed against the table, his knuckles white and fingers red as he tried with his other hand to dial.

The man ended up letting the phone fall, pulling Fritz's hand back. But he knew that that wasn't necessary. He didn't have to do anything at this point, because he knew Fritz knew resistance was futile.

He went limp against the desk, his face pressing down. He could hear the messages Phone Guy left echoing off the walls of the tiny office. He felt the cold invade his legs, and shivered.

_Oh god oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod--_

Fritz screamed, throwing his head back before he felt large fingers press down against his throat. He choked, and his could only hear his grunt next to his ear.

He tried harder, trying his hardest to scream. He was slammed down onto the desk, hard enough to shock the last bits of air out of him. He sputtered, the hand leaving his throat and slamming him back down.

"Scream again and I'll knock you out," he whispered busily.

He felt a hand grip his cheek, squeezing it as He tried once again to push past the ring of muscle. Fritz gasped, going in for another scream, before he could feel the side of his face making contact with the desk forcefully. 

It pushed past and he cried, whimpering. It hurt so much, too much. He was too small for this, he didn't have the looseness of someone larger. 

His face was forced down, and his gasps and cries wasn't helping. He felt it grow. Oh God. He sobbed, his arms and face going limp. He felt it wreck his body, and he shook with the force of his thrusts.

He waited, but it felt like eternity. He waited for the pain to stop. And it did come. But it made him squirm even more.

"Ugh!!" he moaned awkwardly as he was gripped forcefully.

He was pushed up. He felt something be rammed again and again. He gasped, and cried. He felt the hand gran at him. His jaw moved, making noiseless cries and pleads.

He came, his body shook with orgasm and it hurt but it felt too good. It felt too good. Too good. Too good, too good, too good, toogoodtoogoodtoogoodtoogood.

He was gasping for air before he knew it, letting his shameless side show, his red face, breathless noises. 

He was slammed down. Again, and again, and again, and again. He awoke, sitting it the chair. His legs, throat and head hurt like hell. He slumped, letting out a hopeless sob. 

Oliver ran in.

"F-Fritz! Are you, uh, um, okay?!" he held the small man's shoulders, looking worriedly into his eyes. 

Fritz nodded, and tried to smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Bringing the old pizza home, Fritz sat down. He watched with disgust as that thick, wet feeling moved across the fabric. He huffed, feeling his stomach churn, saliva still fresh on his body. It was squelching inside him. He felt the urge to cry rise in his throat, and he swallowed it down.

Standing, the tiny man walked over to a mirror. He looked at himself, the messy ginger hair, falling into almost a mullet, the bruises, the thick lips, and those damn red, splotchy spots decorating the near perfect skin.

Even if it were possible to rid of them, he couldn't afford it. He couldn't afford antidepressants, he couldn't afford any sort of correction surgeries, growth hormones. He sighed softly, a docile feeling spreading over his chest as he pondered.

But in an instant, there was glass everywhere, the plastic of the cheap mirror bent and snapped under the force of calloused knuckles, splitting flesh as it continued into the wall behind it.

He looked at the little stand, holding up flimsily despite the force put against the mirror. There was blood on the wall and shards in his left hand. He held it up, watching the blood run in a loose stream, saturated and glimmering in the morning light.

He gave a sigh, and went to pull it out. He gripped down on the metal tweasers in the bathroom, yanking swiftly. There was so much blood.

He knew if Oliver saw this he'd be screaming, panicking, and Jeremy would damn near be calling 911. This gave a hot, unwelcome feeling in his chest, like steamy water on frostbite.

Love.

Affection.

_Family._


End file.
